A PSC Story: And We'll Never Leave You Alone
by Edward's Josie Black
Summary: A mysterious group, going by "The Professional Stalkers' Club," enlists Matt Hardy to deliver mail--and love!--to Superstars. Hilarity--or at least mild amusement--ensues. Inspired by The Professional Stalker's Club.
1. The Scarlet Letter

**A/N: So this is officially the first thing I've posted in forever, and the first wrestling-related anything I've posted on here ever. This story is inspired by the Professional Stalker's Club, conceived by Tina and Angel. So, no, I can't lay claim to the genius idea.**

**I do not own any of the WWE Superstars (not even my stalkees), as much as I might like to. I am also not responsible for any action the PSC members might take, whether or not it is influenced by this story. It's not my fault.**

**And the title is taken from Ludo's lovely song "Go-Getter Greg." Just so you know. -  
**

Chapter One: The Scarlet Letter

Matt Hardy walked into the post office, eternally grateful that it was empty as it usually was this early in the morning. He always came to get his mail when he was certain not to run into any fans. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate them for supporting him throughout his career--in fact, Matt, as did most WWE Superstars, believed his fans were the greatest in the world. As was demonstrated by the five or so pieces of mail he received from fans every day.

He strolled over to his P.O. Box and entered the combination, effectively opening the door with a click. The envelope on top caught his eye. It was bright red, with his name and address printed neatly in black Sharpie. Instead of a return address, there was a label that read "The Professional Stalker's Club." His eyes widened, and he opted to open the envelope right that moment rather than wait to get home.

_Dear Matt_

_How are you doing? We hope, of course, you're doing well. We heard you got a paper cut the other day--_

"Oh my God…How do they KNOW?!" he whispered, a little freaked out, before continuing reading.

_--so we sent you a Band-Aid._

He opened the envelope a bit wider, and a Band-Aid--black with skulls and crossbones--fell out and onto the floor. He picked it up and couldn't help but feel flattered, even if he was still disturbed. Hey, they'd bothered to send him a hardcore Band-Aid. He couldn't stand the stupid plain brown ones. ECW Champions didn't wear boring, ordinary Band-Aids…at least, this one didn't. He wondered how on earth they had known about his odd obsession with stylish Band-Aids. And then remembered, again, to continue reading.

_Don't be alarmed, Matt. We're not going to harm you or anything. We're merely a group of fan(girl)s who want to take care of our favorite Superstars by sending them things…and love. 3 _

_We come to you with a request of utmost importance. We chose you, Matt Hardy, for this important task, because we believe you to be the most able to carry out this mission. (And also because yours is the only address we have) All we ask is that you deliver the letters we send you to the Superstars to whom they belong. We will continue to send mail to them through you until we receive alternate ways to get them their mail. So, really, you don't really have a choice._

_Good luck with your next match, and your stalker sends her love._

_Use that Band-Aid!_

_PSC_

He flipped through his mail and realized that half of the envelopes weren't even for him. So now he, Matt Hardy, ECW Champion, the Sensei of Mattitude, was also a postman? Wonderful…

**There you have it--the first chapter in my PSC story. What do you think? And if you've got any ideas, I'd love to hear them! …And, yes, the Band-Aid does exist. I've seen a box of them. They're amazing.**


	2. Don't Throw Things at the Messenger

**A/N: Thank you to my lovely reviewers: Tina, Angel, Miss Meggie, Dark Kaneanite, and x.Mayhem.x! I'm glad you enjoyed the first chapter. Now on to Chapter Two.**

Chapter Two: Don't Throw Things at the Messenger

Matt pulled up to Jeff's house and tapped the horn lightly, hoping his brother was awake. Jeff would probably throw something at him if he'd woken him up. Matt rubbed his head, remembering the time last week when he had walked into Jeff's house at 9:00 for a day of _The Hardy Show _shoots. He had turned on the T.V. in the living room--which shared a wall with Jeff's room--not expecting it to be so _loud. _Jeff had stumbled to the doorway, from whence he had chucked a red Converse Chuck Taylor shoe at Matt's head. He'd nearly been knocked unconscious. Matt made a mental note not to allow Jeff to get any chair shots in on him. Ever.

Presently, Matt grabbed a handful of mail from the passenger seat and climbed out of the car. As he walked toward the house, leaves crunched beneath his black boots, and the smell of burning leaves filled the crisp air.

He walked up to the door and pulled out his key, the Band-Aid on his thumb catching his eye. He smiled despite himself. Yeah, so it was a bit creepy they--whoever "they" were--knew he had gotten a paper cut (he hoped they didn't know HOW he'd acquired this paper cut). But it was sweet that they cared enough to send him a Band-Aid.

"Jeff?" Matt called as he entered, closing the door behind him.

The house was silent. While Matt waited to see if his brother would appear, he looked around, noting the state of the kitchen. There was a pile of dishes by the sink, and an unidentifiable piece of art in the center of the kitchen table. Matt couldn't tell whether or not it was finished, or what it was supposed to be, if anything. The only one who really understood Jeff's art was, well…Jeff.

Just as Matt moved to touch the sculpture (at least, he _thought_ it was a sculpture), he heard the sounds of his brother (or some sort of large, hairy beast) stumbling down the hall. Jeff (not large and hairy) appeared a few seconds later, and it was clear that he had indeed been sleeping. His blue-and-green hair was askew, and he was dressed only in Batman pajama pants and a white tank. He pulled the pants up to keep them from falling down and rubbed his eyes. Matt didn't dare speak--he feared for his life.

Jeff shuffled to the refrigerator and pulled out a Mountain Dew, which he popped open and drank thirstily from. It was after he had set it on the counter that he saw Matt at last. His eyes narrowed.

"What time is it?" he croaked.

"Um…6:30," Matt answered warily, wincing.

"_You _woke me up, didn't you?"

His tone was accusatory, and Matt flinched.

"Well, yeah, bu--"

He didn't have time to finish before a roll of paper towels bounced off his head and into the trash. Jeff glared at Matt, who returned the look.

"You _know _the only time I ever get up this early--except for work--is if we're going to Disney World."

"Yeah, but--"

"Are we going to Disney World?" Jeff asked skeptically.

"No, Jeff, we are not going to Disney World."

"Damn." The younger Hardy pouted disappointedly. "Well, then, I should throw something else at you for getting my hopes up."

Matt ducked behind the chair.

"No, please don't. I swear to God, Jeff, you have to stop throwing things at me."

"Or what?"

"I'll tell Dad," Matt threatened, standing back up.

"You wouldn't!"

"I would."

"Well, fine," Jeff said smugly. "I'll tell him you're lying. You know he's always loved me best anyway."

"He does _not_."

"He does so. Why else would he call me more often than you?"

"Because he has to keep you in line."

"Oh, yeah? Well…how come he's only visited you in the hospital once?"

"Because I'm not as reckless as you are!"

"In other words…you're the boring Hardy."

"I'm not boring, dammit."

"Yes you are."

"I'm _not,_" the elder Hardy insisted. "In fact, I'll _prove_ how not-boring I am."

"Oh, really?" Jeff asked, crossing his arms over his chest and appearing intrigued.

Matt dumped the letters on the table.

"Aww, you've brought me more fan mail? Sweet, dude!"

He reached for a letter, but Matt smacked his hand away.

"Stop it. They're not _all _yours."

"So some of them are! Yesss…I love mail!"

Matt rolled his eyes, thinking that it probably wasn't the best for Jeff to have Mountain Dew so early in the morning. He only prayed Jeff wouldn't start singing the _Blue's Clues_ "Mail Song." It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

"Yes, Jeffrey, some of them are for you. But, here, check out this letter that I got."

"Showing off, are we? Is it another picture of a topless fan?"

"_No_," Matt said emphatically, making a disgusted face. "And shut up about that…the girl had been, like, thirteen. We could get in trouble for peddling kiddie porn."

"Correction: _you_ could get in trouble."

"Do you actually _want_ your brother to go to jail?"

"Would I get more attention than you still?"

"What? I don't know. And, look, just because you're attractive--"

Jeff made a choking noise.

"Ew…Matt, that's…I know I'm sexy, but seriously. Say no to Hardycest."

"That's not what I--" Matt began indignantly, but gave up. "I'm not attracted to you. That would be weird."

"You do realize we share genes, right, bro? Because you just essentially said you're not attracted to yourself."

"What? No, I didn't. Jeff, lay off the Mountain Dew in the morning, okay? You're making even less sense than usual."

"Why, thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"Of course it was."

"Whatever. Anyway, just read the letter, would you?"

"Fine; give it here."

Jeff began reading. A few sentences in, he looked up.

"They know about the paper cut?" he asked, raising a brow.

"Yeah…And don't laugh at me--that box was sharp!"

"Mmhmm," said Jeff, who was clearly trying not to laugh aloud.

"For the love of God, Jeffrey Nero Hardy. Stop it."

"I guess this means they know about your love for My Little Pony."

"Shut up. My Little Pony is classic! My collection will be worth a lot one day."

"I'm sure it will. Of course, you'll have to sell it through a third party, because what would your fans think if they knew how much you love My Little Pony?"

"I don't--Would you just read the letter?"

Jeff snapped off a salute, and Matt rolled his eyes again.

"How is it I'm related to you?"

"Well, you see, our parents fell in love, and when two people love each--"

"It was a rhetorical question, Jeff. Geez."

"Well, with you, one never knows."

"Just read the fucking letter," Matt snapped impatiently.

"Okay, okay…"

As Jeff finished the letter, his eyes grew wide, but, by the end, he was nearly falling over from laughing.

"You're their mailman…" he snorted. "Well, Matt, now you can finally have your dream job."

"I was four when I said I wanted to be a mailman."

"Well, your inner four-year-old is jumping for joy."

Matt opened his mouth to protest.

"Don't even," Jeff interjected. "You should be excited--you'll be like…like…" His eyes lit up. "Like SANTA! Oh my God, Matt, you're going to be fucking Santa Claus!"

"Umm, Jeff, I' wouldn't do that to Santa. And I'm _not _Santa Claus, dammit."

"Oh, come on! You'll be bringing joy to the hearts of Superstars! They'll love you!"

"But I don't--"

"Dude, read the letter. You have no choice. They've got you. And there is nothing you can do about it."

"Okay, okay, whatever. But, Jeff, isn't this whole thing a bit sketchy? They even refer to themselves as "stalkers." That's usually not a good sign."

"Yeah, but they also say they only want to "send us things…and love." Who doesn't want stuff and love?! Look, they even drew little hearts around the word "love." It's cute!"

"Jeffrey Nero Hardy, if you ever say the word "cute," especially in that octave, again, I might have to throw a shoe at _your _head."

"C'mon, man--Oooh, is that the Band-Aid?!"

Matt nodded affirmatively and couldn't keep the smile off his face.

"That is awesome. I need to get some of those." Jeff caught his brother's expression and smiled knowingly. "See? You're loving the attention."

Before Matt could reply, Jeff was sidetracked by a trio of envelopes for him. The one on top was from the group calling themselves the "PSC." Jeff ripped it open, grinning elatedly, as Matt picked up the envelope he assumed was from his stalker. The word made him twitch warily. Jeff looked up from his letter, chuckling to himself, and shook his brother's shoulder gently.

"Aww, lighten up, man. They're just a group of girls. What could they do?"

**Oh, Jeff, you have no idea what we're capable of. grins mischievously Hope you enjoyed this chapter--I loved working on it. It would help me immensely if you'd PM me letters or notes for your stalkees, and I can then work them into chapters (giving you credit, of course). I don't want to put words in anyone's mouth if I can help it, and I love the idea of making this story more of a collaborative effort from us all.**

**Oh, and it would be great if you could PM me who/what you want to be for Halloween. You'll find out soon enough why…**

**Next chapter: Matt and Jeff arrive at the arena to spread love and joy on behalf of the PSC.**


	3. Story Time

**A/N: Thanks again to my wonderful reviewers--Angel, Tina, Mel, 68 stones from a broken heart, and Dark Kaneanite. You guys rock! Enjoy Chapter Three!**

--

Chapter Three: Story Time

"How many times do I have to tell you?! I'm _not _Santa."

"Aww, but I went digging through all my Christmas decorations just to find this."

"Jeff, I am not wearing that hat."

Sitting in the passenger side of Matt's car, with a large box in his lap, Jeff pouted. Unfortunately, Matt wasn't looking at him, seeing as he was concentrating on navigating the parking lot without running over any of the little children that had ducked under the barrier. Jeff looked down at the box curiously.

"I wonder what's in it…"

"I don't know," Matt said. "It's for Cody…that kid has the weirdest fans."

"Apparently girls find lisps endearing."

"Hmm…You know what I've been thinking?"

"Oh my God! You think?!"

"Shut up; of course I think."

"Whoaaa. So what is it you've been thinking?"

"Why does the word 'lisp' have an 's?' It's not really very nice."

"You know, I don't actually know. But, no, it's actually pretty mean."

After parking, Matt took the keys from the ignition and took a deep breath.

"Ready?"

Jeff looked out at the fans, a huge grin on his face, before turning back to his brother.

"Hell yes."

The pair opened their doors and stepped out, basking in the cheers and catcalls. A "Hardy" chant started up, and they laughed as they pulled their stuff out of the back seat.

"God, I love my job."

"You and me both."

They piled their bags (and the mail) on the trunk and broke out the Hardy hand guns as many of the fans joined in. After five minutes or so, the security people were getting sick of trying to keep the excited females in the crowd from attacking the two attractive brothers. The glares said security personnel shot in the Hardys' direction did not go unnoticed by Matt, who slapped one last outstretched hand before looking for Jeff…whom he found standing on top of the car.

"Jeff. Is that seriously necessary?"

"Yes, actually; now everyone can see me. It's pretty cool. And, by the way, you look really short from up here."

"Thaaanks."

"Anytime."

"Hey!"

They turned to see CM Punk walking toward them, smiling warmly. Matt waved. Jeff leapt from the roof of the car, landing expertly on the ground. A few ladies watching screamed. One nearly fainted. First Matt, then Jeff, hugged the Straightedge Superstar. Just as Jeff pulled away, Punk spoke, glancing back toward the fans with an amused smirk.

"Did someone just yell, 'OHMYGODMANHUG!'?"

"Oh, good, so you heard it, too," Matt said with a laugh.

"Sometimes they scare me…" Punk said. "There was a girl at this house show in August that did the same thing…I think I'd hugged Dave…?"

"Maybe it's the same girl…?" Jeff wondered aloud.

"No," Punk said dismissively. "That would be creepy. Like she was stalking me or something."

The Hardys exchanged glances, while Punk looked back and forth between them, confused.

"Okay, what's up?"

"Well…" Matt began carefully.

"Matt's been enlisted to deliver mail from this group called The Professional Stalker's Club."

Punk just stared at them awhile before laughing somewhat nervously.

"You're kidding, right? I mean, you have to be kidding."

Matt shook his head.

"They sent me a Band-Aid," he said, as if this proved everything.

The Chicagoan's eyes widened.

"We should probably get inside," Jeff whispered (badly). "We don't want them to hear us."

"This is ridiculous," Punk said cynically, but he followed inside anyway.

The three Superstars trooped inside--but not before posing for their adoring public--to the relief of security. Once inside, the first person they spotted was none other than Cody Rhodes. Jeff looked over at Matt meaningfully.

"What?" Matt questioned, clearly on edge by the events of the day.

"Don't you have something for Cody?"

Cody looked up from his phone, on which he had been texting, expectantly.

"What? You have something for me?"

Ted DiBiase, who was standing nearby, snickered.

"I'll bet you have something for him," he mumbled jokingly

"Oh, shut up, Ted," Matt said, rolling his eyes.

"Angsty today, I see…" Cody commented.

Matt bit his lip to keep from snapping off an unkind retort.

"Be nice to Matt," Jeff said. "You wouldn't make fun of Santa, would you?"

"Jeff! I am _not _Santa."

"Yeah, no…Santa's definitely less angry than that. And way more…jolly," Punk said.

"Exa--_Hey_."

"Did you seriously just say 'jolly?'" Ted asked Punk, laughing.

"Yeah…and?"

"Wow. Just…wow."

"So anyway," Cody said loudly, "what's this about a present?"

"I didn't say it was a present, now did I?" Matt asked.

Cody was suddenly quite a bit more interested.

"But it is _something_, though, right?"

"Well, yeah…but first, I have to tell you about the PSC--"

"The what?" Ted and Cody asked, just as Jeff said, "Aww, you're even using their acronym now."

Matt replied to Jeff first.

"Yeah, well, it's much less of a mouthful than The Professional Stalker's Club."

Ted looked frightened, while Cody appeared intrigued and a bit flattered.

"The what?" Ted asked warily.

Matt sighed.

"Okay, I'll tell you, but I really have to put my stuff down."

The others nodded, and the group headed toward the locker room, led by Cody and Ted, who had been at the arena first. They passed several Superstars and crew loitering in the hall. Melina Perez and Ken Kennedy were deep in conversation; she sat on a trunk while he leaned upon it, talking up at her. Ashley Massaro and Mickie James were chatting companionably, presumably about what they were planning on wearing out to the ring that night.

"Okay, here we are," Cody said, pushing the door open.

The room was empty, save for Adam Copeland (a.k.a. Edge) and Chris Jericho. Adam was lacing up his boots on a folding chair in the corner, while Chris was lounging lazily on the blue upholstered couch. Punk marched over to Chris, swatted his feet off the arm of the couch, and claimed the vacated spot as his perch. His comfort there was short-lived, however, as Chris soon kicked him off. Picking himself up off the floor, Punk glared at the Canadian.

"Well, 'Hello' to you, too," he said sarcastically.

"Hey, guys," Adam said pleasantly.

"Can I sit?" Matt asked.

"Of course."

Punk, taken aback and a little miffed, rolled his eyes and sat cross-legged on the floor like a young child waiting expectantly to gain a bit of knowledge from his elementary school teacher. Jeff sat beside him in the same manner, and both stared up at Matt.

"What?"

"Ooh, Matt, tell us a story!" Chris said eagerly, seeing as he had no idea what the deal was.

Matt nodded.

"Okay, fine. So this morning, I went to check the mail, right?"

The others nodded.

"And I had mail, of course."

"What?" Cody and Ted chorused.

Matt sighed, knowing he was in for a fun "story time." He hoped he could keep himself from injuring anyone. Santa was supposed to be nice.

_Wait a minute,_ he thought, smacking himself inwardly. _I am NOT Santa. I am a professional wrestler. Beating people up is in my job description._

He shook his head and recomposed himself before continuing.

"So I got this letter--"

"_What_?"

This time, Jeff had joined them. Matt made a mental note to throw his shoe at Jeff at the next available opportunity.

"It's from the PSC."

"_What?_" the three questioned, a bit more loudly this time.

"Wait…_what_?" Adam asked.

"The Professional Stalker's Club."

"WHAT?!"

Chris had joined them in their shouting. Matt and Adam glared at them.

"Stop it, guys," Adam said evenly.

"WHAT?!"

"Seriously, shut up for a second," The Rated-R Superstar said.

He was looking at Matt intensely. Frankly, this made the latter a little twitchy.

"Okay, stop staring at me!" Matt said at last.

"Okay, so these people--The Professional Stalker's Assoc--"

"_Club_," Jeff corrected emphatically.

"Whatever," Adam said, continuing. "So we've got stalkers? Who admit to being stalkers?"

"It looks that way."

"That's awesome!" Ted said with a grin.

"It is _not_ awesome, Ted."

"Yes it is," Cody agreed.

"You guys…" Punk sighed. "You're such attention whores."

Ted gaped, affronted.

"You're just jealous because the ladies love us."

"Oh, please."

"Guys, settle," Chris said impatiently, wanting to hear the rest of Matt's story. When they'd fallen quiet, he turned to Matt.

"So, this club sent you a letter? What about?"

"Basically, they want to send us stuff--"

"And love!" Jeff added brightly.

"Oooh, really? I love stuff and love!" Adam said happily.

"We know," Cody said. "We see the groupies lined up at your door every night."

Adam rolled his eyes.

"You're exaggerating."

"Hey…if you enjoy sleeping with minors, it's not our business," Ted said.

"I don't have any groupies…well, not that I couldn't--It's just--"

"Just stop now…please," Punk pled, wincing.

"Matt still hasn't finished his story," Chris pointed out.

"Oh…whoops. Do continue, young Matthew."

"Thanks, Adam," Matt said sarcastically before continuing. "So anyway…they sent me a Band-Aid…It's actually pretty cool," he said, as if doing so caused him extreme discomfort.

"Let me see!" Cody said eagerly.

Matt brandished his finger, and the others stared at the Band-Aid with wide eyes.

"Oooh!" they chorused.

All save Chris, who scoffed.

"Psh, it's not even sparkly."

"You're just upset because no one sent _you_ a Band-Aid," Punk said matter-of-factly.

"No, I don't need a Band-Aid, because I don't injure myself on My Little Pony Boxes," Chris said pointedly.

Matt immediately turned to Jeff, mouth open in disbelief.

"You _told _him?!"

"I didn't--"

Matt stood, and the expression in his dark eyes sent chills down the spine of all in the room.

"I didn't tell anyone about your infatuation with Hannah Montana, did I?"

Astonished gasps filled the room, followed by dead silence. Jeff stood.

"I can't _believe_ you just did that!" Jeff shouted, spearing Matt to the floor.

"Hey!"

"Ow…dammit, Jeff!"

The bickering siblings rolled around on the floor while the others watched. Adam and Cody bet on who each thought would win (Adam for Matt, Cody for Jeff). Punk watched, annoyed at their immaturity and at the fact that Matt hadn't yet finished his story. Chris threw a shoe at the brawling brothers and the yelp of pain that followed was music to his ears.

"Ouch! Why the fuck is it always me?!" Matt bellowed. "Jeff, get off!"

He caught Jeff with a forearm to the face to get free and scooted away from the rainbow-haired one quickly, clutching his head in agony.

"I swear, I'm going to end up with a concussion. And from foreign objects to the head by my brother and friend _outside_ the ring, rather than from an opponent _inside _it. Great. You're paying my hospital bill, Jeff."

"Well, I'm sorry, but some of us have things to do this evening," Chris said as Jeff crossed his arms over his chest sullenly. "That don't involve you two rolling around like six-year-olds."

"I bet you wish your evening involved joining them." Ted said.

"What is it with you and the innuendos?" questioned Adam.

Ted merely shrugged.

"It's not my fault you guys say things that beg for sexual comments."

"No, but it is your fault you _make_ the comments," Punk said.

"Fine. I'm sorry. I'll work on it."

"That's what she said," Cody snickered.

"Okay, so I was asking for that one," Ted admitted.

"Guys!" Punk said loudly. "Can we _please_ get the story on what's going on? I have a match tonight."

"Against who? Oh, wait…us!" Cody said, as if he'd just remembered.

"Yes, and I swear, I'm going to work stiff on you if you don't shut up."

They all knew he meant business. It really hadn't been smart of them to antagonize Punk when he was already on edge--it had been two long hours since his last Pepsi, and he was fidgety with the need to get another. The offending Superstars fell silent and waited for Matt to recompose himself. When he'd resituated himself upon the couch, he spoke.

"So anyway, the Professional Stalker's Club has chosen me as their postman…because mine is the only address they have."

"Nice job, Matt," Adam laughed.

"I told you putting an address on MySpace was a bad idea," Chris said.

"It's not fan mail I mind," Matt said, "It's being a delivery boy for the entire locker room."

"Aww, come on. It'll be fun," Jeff coaxed.

"Dude! You'll be like Santa!" Ted said.

Matt glared at him.

"For the _last time_," he said, clearly trying to remain calm. "I am _not _Santa."

"It's not a bad thing, Matt. Everybody loves Santa!" Cody exclaimed.

"That's what I said!" Jeff said, as though Matt were being completely idiotic.

"Guys, I really don't know about this…" Punk said uncertainly.

"Come on; they're probably teenage girls. They can't _really_ be literally stalking us," Chris said. "Can they?"

"I hope not," Adam said.

"They'll probably send a letter now and then or something. I really doubt it'll be a big deal. And they won't try to kill us or anything--they love us," Chris said.

"They could be psychotic! They could try to kidnap us!"

"Okay, seriously, Phil…you need some Pepsi," Matt said. "You're being more paranoid than I am."

"Don't call me Phil," Punk said, irritated. "And I think I _do _need some Pepsi. I swear, if this place doesn't have any…"

He got up and walked off, mumbling to himself. The others watched him leave, listening to make sure he didn't run into anything in his half-functional state. When the sound of his footsteps faded, their eyes fell on the pile of letters in the middle of the floor. Despite the reservations some of them held, they couldn't help but wonder what was inside…

--

**So there you have it--Chapter Three of And We'll Never Leave You Alone…! I highly suggest listening to "Go-Getter Greg," by the way. It'll make you giggle if nothing else. **

**And, also, if you haven't PMed me with your costume, there's still a little bit of time, but there's no telling when I'll get antsy and start…whatever it is I'm doing with those bits of information. Okay, so, I'm not going to lie…it will be for some sort of story-ish thing. So if I can't get your hair/eye color on your profile, and either would be exposed for your costume, it'd be great if you could fill me in on that--that is, of course, if you're not against telling a stranger your hair and eye color. It's not important for me to have your actual name, but if your costume is something generic-ish (like a fairy) you could give me an alias for yourself. Otherwise I'll just bestow one upon you.**

**Next Chapter: The guys open some letters, and Punk has a problem.**


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